


Visiting the Past

by AmberBrown



Series: Reading between the Lines [14]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: A task to arrest a Baron for treason dredges up Aramis’ past in ways he does not like. Can the friends save an innocent man and keep Aramis’ past where it should be?
Relationships: Aramis/Porthos
Series: Reading between the Lines [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542634
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not read the rest of my series all you need to know is that Aramis and Porthos are in a relationship, it is still early in their relationship. Aramis had an abusive childhood, which is explored in this story.

Aramis felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He opened his eyes squinting before moving slightly to get out of the sunlight. He looked across to Porthos who was still asleep. His friend was lying, facing him, one hand entwined with Aramis’ fingers. Aramis smiled. He could not think of a time he had been quite as content and happy in his life. His smile faltered for a moment as he recalled a few months in his youth when serendipity had played a part in what he had, at the time, thought would dictate the path of his life. He had been happy then, but it had not lasted. He pushed the thought away, that was in the past and his past was not something he wanted, or needed, to dwell on any longer. 

The present was what he wanted to think about. His present with Porthos. They had settled into a comfortable relationship. They had wondered initially if working closely and being in a more intimate relationship would cause issues. After a few weeks they had come to the conclusion that they were able to separate the two. 

He smiled at the thought of the times they had enjoyed together. They were taking their time, learning what each of them liked. Porthos had more experience in a variety of things but Aramis was very good at making Porthos feel good, and that in turn made Aramis feel good. They had not worked up to actual sex, and oddly Aramis was in no hurry. The urge to be fucked by a man seemed to have left him. He wondered if the caring attention he was receiving from Porthos had cured him of that particular need. He knew he wanted to have sex with Porthos, but he wanted the time to be right. He was quite content enjoying their relationship as it developed on its own, there was no need to hurry. 

Enjoying the moment, the present. Aramis liked the idea.

He felt the fingers curled around his hand squeeze slightly. He smiled and watched his friend wake up, slowly opening his eyes and focusing on him. Porthos smiled. 

‘How did you sleep?’ asked Porthos.

‘No dreams, that I remember,’ said Aramis honestly. 

The horrifically realistic dreams he had suffered over the weeks since his return and gradual recovery after the massacre at Savoy were becoming less and less. As his forgotten memories of the event resurfaced the dreams had gradually stopped. He had not found himself being shaken awake by a concerned Porthos for some days.

Porthos pushed himself closer to Aramis who wrapped his arm around his friend. They kissed briefly before pushing apart.

‘Those markets won’t patrol themselves,’ said Porthos with a smile before throwing the blankets off them both and rolling over to sit on the edge of the bed.

Aramis could not help a brief pang of guilt as he looked at the healed scars across Porthos’ back. The lash marks a permanent reminder to Aramis of what Porthos had done for him. Taking the blame for something he had not done, to save Aramis’ life was probably the bravest thing Aramis had ever seen. They had been through a difficult few months, but everything seemed to be alright again. And the events that they had both endured had only helped to bring them closer together. Aramis wished he had not been through those difficult events but the end result - waking up with Porthos - was certainly welcome.

‘You coming?’ asked Porthos over his shoulder as he finished washing and started to dress. 

‘I sometimes wonder what it’s like for the nobles… getting up when they feel like it…’

Porthos smirked, ‘not something we’re ever gonna know, my friend.’

MMMM

The summons to the Captain’s office was nothing unusual. They had not been given a duty at muster that morning and were merely told to keep themselves available for later in the day. The three of them had not taken long to find things to keep them gainfully employed around the garrison. Aramis had collected a couple of the cadets that were not as good with a musket as the others and taken them off to the range. Porthos was teaching the stable boys something which had resulted in intermittent howls of laughter from them all. And Athos was helping some of the older cadets to refine their swordsmanship before they gained their commissions. 

The warm weather had helped to lift spirits and encouraged the other men to practice their skills in the garrison yard. Athos enjoyed observing how the men fought, and none of them were above taking direction or suggestion from their comrades. They were a team and Athos knew that when they were called to arms, they would work well together. 

Treville had appeared on the balustrade and given them the nod that he was ready for them, when they were finishing their lunch.

‘What’s it going to be?’ mused Aramis as they climbed the stairs. ‘Protecting a visiting dignitary? Seeking out a villainous scoundrel - ‘

Porthos smirked, ‘I bet it’ll be dull. These things always start off promising and end up being the total opposite. We’ll be stuck with some dumpy old Comte who moves slower than Serge and uses us as his servants.’

Athos hoped Porthos was wrong, they had done their fair share of guarding visiting dignitaries, he secretly hoped Aramis was correct with his guess about searching for a wrongdoer. At least that could lead to the possibility of some action. Whilst he did not wish harm on anyone, he sometimes wondered when they would get another skirmish to deal with. Sparring with his friends and the other Musketeers was not quite the same. They were all proficient enough to know they did not need to hold back but it still did not carry the same danger as fighting with an unknown man. When he fought with his friends, he could generally guess their moves, which was helpful in a real fight but did lead to their sparring sessions being predictable. 

They stepped into the Captain's office. He was sitting at his desk looking at some papers, he indicated for the door to be closed behind them, once Aramis had firmly closed the door and joined them the Captain began his briefing. 

‘This is a delicate task; I am hoping it won’t involve violence.’

Athos could tell Porthos was a little disappointed, he wondered if his friend was also craving some action.

‘I need you to travel to this address,’ Treville indicated one of the papers on his desk, ‘you are to travel as quickly as you can. You are to arrest Baron Jean-Francois de Foix. He has been accused of treason. The King wants him questioned. If the accusations are proven the man will be executed. The King wants this dealt with swiftly and quietly. When you bring him back into the city you are to conduct him directly to the Chatelet.’

Athos listened intently to the instructions as Treville spoke, but he also watched Aramis who was standing to the side of him. His friend had visibly reacted when he heard the name of the man they were to arrest. It was apparent that Aramis knew the Baron, which surprised Athos. He tried to work out when Aramis might have come across de Foix. The Baron was not one of the fawning men that followed the King around at court. The de Foix’s generally kept to themselves, rarely visiting the city. He had known of the previous Baron in his youth, he knew he was a generous and well-respected landlord and that his son was just as well loved. It seemed odd to Athos that the Baron would do anything treasonous. But it was Aramis’ reaction that intrigued Athos more. 

How did Aramis know de Foix? Athos knew a little of Aramis’ upbringing but not enough to be able to work out where his friend would have met a Baron. Aramis did not say anything, Athos decided he would not mention the reaction for the time being.

Treville outlined some of the things de Foix had been accused of. He seemed to be trying to raise an army against the King in an attempt to usurp him and place his brother on the throne. Enough intelligence had been received, intercepted letters and a few verbal exchanges had been overheard and reported in letters from people local to the Baron, that the threat was being taken seriously. None of the people who had been overheard had been caught. 

Athos knew what would be in store for the traitor when he was brought to the city, the interrogators would extract a confession before the man would be briefly tried and executed. 

‘I would like you to leave first thing in the morning,’ said Treville as he handed the arrest warrant to Porthos. ‘It will not draw as much attention if you slip away in the early hours. No one is to know where you are going or what you are doing. I would suggest you disguise the Baron when you bring him back into the city. If he has contacts here, they may try to liberate him. Very few people are aware of the warrant for de Foix’s arrest. I would like to keep it that way.’

The Musketeers all nodded, Aramis had hidden his reaction well, he appeared outwardly professional. Athos wondered if his friend would share how he knew de Foix.

MMMM

Porthos tucked the warrant in his doublet as he followed his friends from the office. He had hoped for something a little more exciting but at least the mission was giving them a chance to get out of the garrison. The Baron lived a couple of hard days riding away, he looked forward to getting in the saddle and pushing his horse into a gallop, even for a few minutes. The freedom that would bring before they had to get back to the grim reality of what they had been sent to do would be welcome. Porthos disliked the mission but hoped he could at least enjoy the couple of days before they reached the de Foix residence. 

‘I think we’ll be alright camping for the couple of nights out,’ suggested Porthos as they reached the bottom of the steps. ‘It’s warm enough and we won’t have to worry about where the next town will be.’

Both Athos and Aramis nodded their agreement. Porthos noticed that Aramis seemed a little distracted. 

‘I’ll sort us out some provisions,’ Porthos said, ‘if you two can see that the horses are prepared, and we have enough ammunition?’ 

His friends nodded. Aramis turned towards the infirmary without saying a word, Porthos watched him go unable to hide his concern. Porthos wondered what the matter was with Aramis. He was often quiet and contemplative, the quiet times made Aramis’ more outgoing moments all the more entertaining. His friend could keep a group of cadets enthralled with tall tales of battles and skirmishes. He positively loved getting soundly beaten in a sparring session, but only if he had an audience to play up to. His friend loved to show off, Porthos had wondered if the outgoing Aramis was part of the facade, he had built up over the years to hide the things he thought were wrong with him. But as Porthos had gradually broken that wall down it had become obvious to him that the outgoing Aramis would not now fade away. Porthos had been very pleased when he realised that. 

The question of what was bothering Aramis at that moment remained, Porthos wondered if Aramis was worrying about their relationship. Was something bothering him that he had not spoken about. Porthos hoped not, they had both made an effort to be open and honest about what each of them wanted from the relationship. Was Aramis holding back about something?

‘You noticed as well?’ asked Athos as they watched their friend disappear.

‘Notice what?’

‘He knows Baron de Foix,’ said Athos. ‘I saw him having to hide his reaction just now.’

Porthos had not seen what Athos was describing, but it explained why his friend was behaving as he was. Aramis seemed distracted. Porthos stopped himself from sighing with relief, he did not want Athos to know what he had thought the problem was.

‘Well,’ remarked Porthos, ‘we have a couple of days to find out how he knows the Baron.’

Athos nodded, ‘I just hope it is not going to cause him any problems with the arrest.’

Porthos shook his head, ‘he’s a professional.’

But the new nagging worry had been seeded in Porthos’ mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_The next morning… ___

__Athos had made eye contact with Porthos when his two friends had emerged from their bedroom the following morning as the dawn rays started to penetrate the gloom. Porthos shook his head, Aramis had not elaborated on what was bothering him. Aramis had continued to be quiet for the rest of the previous day. He had barely spoken when they stopped at a tavern for an early dinner, saying less than Athos, which was very unusual. Athos had hoped that if the issue was something of a personal nature Aramis might confide in Porthos. Athos did not necessarily need to know what the problem was, but he would have liked to know that it would not cause them problems._ _

__Aramis may have been quiet, but he still carried out his work in his usual exemplary way. They were all ready to leave the garrison within thirty minutes of arriving, their saddlebags packed, the warrant tucked safely away and a calm determination oozing from each Musketeer._ _

__‘Good luck, gentlemen,’ Treville said as he watched them all mount up. ‘Remember we do not want the Baron to be seen being brought into the city.’_ _

__‘Yes, Captain,’ said Athos with a nod as he turned his horse towards the garrison gates._ _

__The three Musketeers pushed their horses into a trot and made their way out of the city through quiet streets. As they reached the outskirts of the city, they kicked their heels and allowed the horses to canter along the wider open roads. They knew they had to hold the horses back in order to prevent them from becoming too fatigued too quickly. But the weather was again in their favour and the roads around Paris were good. They made good time pausing only to allow the horses to drink and to eat a simple lunch themselves._ _

__‘At this pace, we should be there tomorrow afternoon,’ remarked Porthos as they slowed to a walk, scanning their surroundings for a likely place to camp._ _

__‘Those rocks,’ said Aramis, speaking for the first time in several hours, ‘they would provide shelter from the breeze.’_ _

__Aramis was pointing at a group of rocks that had become exposed over several years of wind and rain beating down on them, one side was smooth the other provided several nooks and crannies that they could tuck themselves around overnight. The final selling point for the spot was a small trickle of a stream a hundred yards further on, the water cutting a narrow path down a rugged hill formed of the same rocks as the proposed campsite._ _

__Athos turned his horse towards the area walking him beyond the jutting rocks to a lone dead tree with low branches spreading out. He loosely tied the horse to the branch closest to the trickling stream and wandered back to the rocks. He passed Porthos who was leading his and Aramis’ horses to the same tree._ _

__‘We need to be sure he is alright,’ said Athos. ‘If he does not say anything soon, I will ask him.’_ _

__Porthos nodded, ‘let’s give him a bit longer.’_ _

__Athos reluctantly agreed but vowed he would not let the issue continue for much longer. If whatever was bothering Aramis was going to compromise their mission, the sooner they knew the better. He started to wonder if he should have pushed Porthos to speak to Aramis before they left._ _

__As he walked back to their camp, he watched Aramis setting down their bedrolls and pulling his gun from his belt._ _

__‘I’ll catch us some dinner,’ he said, ‘if one of you can get a fire going?’_ _

__Athos nodded. Aramis walked away; Athos was convinced his friend was not moving with his usual confident swagger._ _

__Aramis returned as the fire was being built up carrying a plump rabbit._ _

__‘Was it too fat to run away?’ asked Porthos as he took the rabbit and set about preparing it for the pot that was bubbling over the fire._ _

__Aramis chuckled as he settled himself on a nearby rock and accepted a waterskin from Athos. Their friend was outwardly fine but they both knew he was not. They had known each other long enough to know when something was wrong. Athos glanced at Porthos and raised his eyebrows. Porthos shook his head subtly and looked at the cooking pot. Athos understood, he hid a smile. Porthos might have been concerned about his friend but he was also concerned about getting a good meal in them all. The questions could wait a while longer._ _

__It was a couple of hours later as the darkness of the night chased away any final vestiges of daylight that Athos finally reached the point when he had to know what was bothering his friend. They had tried to engage him in conversation during their meal but been met with monosyllabic answers. They all enjoyed a companionable silence but the silences from Aramis were becoming awkward._ _

__With a sigh, Athos looked at Porthos for a few seconds. Porthos nodded his agreement._ _

__‘Aramis, you have to tell us what it is?’ said Athos._ _

__‘What what is?’ asked Aramis._ _

__‘Whatever it is that is bothering you,’ Porthos said with slight exasperation. ‘You’ve been quiet since Treville gave us the mission. Athos saw you react when de Foix was mentioned… Do you know him?’_ _

__Aramis looked at them both for a few seconds before looking away. They gave him a moment to gather his thoughts._ _

__‘I do know him,’ he said after a few seconds._ _

__Aramis was looking at the fire, poking at the edge of the flames with a stout stick._ _

__‘I knew him when I was a child.’_ _

__They waited for him to continue, he looked at them both. Athos realised Aramis was not keen to talk but was resigned to the fact he would have to._ _

__‘The de Foix château and the lands belonging to the Baron neighboured my father's house. He had a modest house and a bit of land bought from money made trading with the Americas. My father was…’ Aramis paused obviously struggling with the memories, ‘strict. He favoured my half-brother, obviously, and barely tolerated my presence.’_ _

__Athos leaned forward slightly, ‘why did he favour your brother?’_ _

__Aramis managed a small sad smile, ‘I’m illegitimate,’ he said, ‘my mother worked in a brothel.’_ _

__Athos nodded his understanding but did not ask anything further, he glanced at Porthos who had not reacted to the revelation. He was not surprised, the two were in a closer relationship, it was understandable that they would have talked about their backgrounds to each other in more detail. Athos had never really thought about his friends' backgrounds, he had quickly surmised they were not the same as his own, but their backgrounds did not matter. The men were what mattered, and Athos knew that each of them would lay their lives down for the others. Athos was pleased to see that Aramis was relieved by his lack of adverse reaction._ _

__‘My father took me home when I was eleven, I stayed with him until I was seventeen. If it hadn’t been for the de Foix’s I doubt I would have stayed that long.’_ _

__Aramis looked at the fire for a few more seconds, he smiled._ _

__‘Jean, Jean-Francois, he was probably my only friend at the time. When I wasn’t doing chores or with my father I was there. Jean and I would go hunting for rabbits, we’d climb trees, swim in the river. I probably spent more time at that Chateau than I did in my own home. The Baron, Jean’s father, he didn’t mind, he encouraged us to go off all day. He told us once that we were probably leaning more by being out and about than we would be cooped up inside with a governor. My father knew I was with Jean, I think he was just glad to have me out of the way most of the time. The Baron invested in several of my father's trade deals so we were frequently invited to the chateau.’_ _

__‘How did your father explain your arrival?’ asked Athos._ _

__‘I was the orphaned son of his cousin. If we were ever in company, I had to refer to my father as my Uncle. Henri, my brother, used to enjoy that. The plan was to have me take holy orders as soon as I was old enough then they would be rid of me. I was just a hindrance to them.’_ _

__‘Do you think Jean-Francois is capable of treason?’ asked Athos. ‘You knew him as a boy, you probably have a good idea what kind of man he would have turned out to be.’_ _

__‘I don’t believe it for a second,’ said Aramis with conviction. ‘Jean was the friendliest, kindest person I knew. He took after father in every way. Hubert, Jean’s father, was loved by all the servants and the tenants. I don’t think he ever evicted anyone if they could not pay their rent because a harvest had failed, he would coordinate the other tenant farmers to make sure that they had enough to get by over the winter. He was firm but fair. He didn’t tolerate any animosity; he’d make anyone with a disagreement talk it out. I believe Jean would have grown up to be very similar to his father.’_ _

__‘But your father was the opposite?’ asked Porthos. ‘You’ve never really spoken about him, only told me that you don’t like him.’_ _

__‘It was not pleasant. It was probably better than the life I would have lived but it was not good. I barely spoke to my father or brother. Henri used to pick on me, he would contrive for me to get into trouble so that my father would hit me. The reason I have quick reflexes is probably down to my time living there. Henri is a couple of years older than me; he was a hefty boy and didn’t have any trouble knocking me to the ground. Over the years I just learned to avoid them. My father thought I was pathetic for not standing up to Henri. I didn’t stand up for myself until I was sixteen.’_ _

__Athos wondered what had happened when Aramis was sixteen, his friend did not elaborate but he did pause and look away for a few seconds._ _

__When he looked back, he seemed calmer._ _

__‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away, I was just so shocked at the accusation. I can’t believe it. I’ll do as we’ve been asked. With luck, Jean won’t recognise me…’_ _

__Athos hoped his friend was correct. He was glad Aramis had finally talked to them but the information he had added to what they already knew did not add up. Athos could only assume the Baron had changed since Aramis had known him, but somehow, he wondered if that was really the case.  
MMMM_ _


	3. Chapter 3

As they settled for the night Aramis was grateful to his friends for letting him tell them in his own time. He had known they were aware something was bothering him. He had just not been able to find the right time to tell them. Athos’ prompt was the thing that finally helped him, he had decided he would try to talk that night anyway. The closer they had got to the chateau the harder it would have been. 

He watched Porthos and Athos stretch out by the fire. He was taking the first watch; he had told them he was a bit wound up and probably would struggle to sleep straight away. They had understood, of course they had understood. They all had their issues, sometimes things bubbled to the surface and needed to be dealt with. It was just unfortunate that his were going to be bubbling on the surface for the length of the mission. 

The thought that Jean could be a traitor to the King had shocked Aramis from the start. His friend was very much a pacifist. Even their hunting trips would only involve killing enough to feed the family and servants. There was never an excess. Jean’s father had been a gentle soul as well. Baron Hubert de Foix was the father Aramis wished he could have had. 

Aramis thought back to the conversation they had before the three of them had settled for the night. Athos had asked if he wanted to visit his father whilst they were in the vicinity. Aramis had not hesitated to say he did not want to see the man. Neither of his friends had pushed him to change his mind. He guessed it was fairly obvious he had finished with that chapter of his life. It was bad enough he was going to arrest his friend.

He prayed Jean did not recognise him, he was devastated to be arresting his childhood friend and shocked that Jean could have changed so much. He did not believe it, he could not believe it, but the incriminating evidence was there. They had not seen the letters that had been intercepted, but Treville believed them to be serious enough to send a team to arrest the Baron. Aramis probably should have said something right from the start about knowing Jean, but he had kept quiet and now he would have to go through the distress of arresting his friend. 

Athos appeared beside him, ‘go and get some rest,’ he said.

Aramis had not even been aware of the hours passing by. He had wondered a few yards away from the fire and stood watching the horses by the dead tree. The trickling stream sliding over the smooth rocks had been comforting to watch in the moonlight. Although they had not distracted him from the thoughts whirling around in his head.

As he turned to go Athos spoke again, ‘if you believe the Baron is incapable of treason, we could try to prove his innocence.’

Aramis turned back to Athos, ‘like I said, I find it hard to believe that he could have changed that much… you never know. But thank you. If we believe he is innocent and can prove it I would be grateful.’

Athos nodded, ‘we were not given a specific time to have him back in Paris by. We can question him ourselves. Give him a chance to defend himself. Probably more than the chance he would get in the Chatelet.’

Aramis wandered back to the fire and Porthos, leaving Athos to stand watch for a few hours before they broke camp when the daylight returned. Porthos was stretched out on his side by the fire, his bedroll touching Aramis’. Aramis smiled; they were far enough away from anyone else that they could lie together safely. He quietly slipped off his weapons belts and lay beside his friend. It did not take Porthos long to shift closer and mould himself around Aramis, slipping his arm around him. The closeness was comforting. He was reminded of times he sat on the riverbank with Jean when his friend would sling his arm around his shoulders. Jean knew that Aramis had a difficult life when he went home, his friend always made sure Aramis was welcomed. Jean did not care that he was supposedly an orphan, did not care that he was not of the same social class. Aramis was sure Jean saw them both as equals. He wondered if that would still be the case.

MMMM

Porthos rode next to Aramis, keeping close, their knees touching on occasion. They had slowed the horses as they reached de Foix’s land. The impressive chateau had been visible for a few minutes. The pale brickwork standing out starkly against the lush green of the surroundings. An impressive ornamental garden laid out in blocks in front of the chateau only added to its splendour. The Chateau itself was of the typical symmetrical design with two main floors and further rooms over the ends of each wing and centrally over the large double door that would open onto what Porthos expected to be a large entrance hall. He counted the windows across the first floor and guessed there were at least twelve bedrooms looking over the front of the property, possibly more depending on their size. They could not see the design of the rear of the house, it would not have surprised Porthos to see the chateau stretching back perhaps around a central courtyard. 

He glanced at Aramis and tried to imagine his friend as a boy enjoying time spent in the expansive grounds with the then heir to the title and lands. Aramis looked pensive.

A gunshot had them all reacting. Each Musketeer reached for their weapons ready to deal with the unseen threat.

‘Sorry,’ someone shouted from a neat lawn to the side of the ornamental garden.

They looked across to see a man walking towards them, his arms out, hands palms upwards showing he was unarmed. He was tall and had the physique of a man used to physical activity, but his clothes were those of an aristocrat. He wore simply designed but good quality breeches. His boots were muddy but not well worn and his white shirt would not be the sort to be worn by a man who generally worked the land. He had short black hair and a neat beard. It was obvious they had found Baron Jean-François de Foix. But he did not, at least outwardly look like a man trying to raise an army and overthrow the King. 

‘The shot,’ said de Foix, ‘did it scare the horses?’

The man’s friendly smile faltered slightly as he drew nearer to be replaced by a look of admiration after a few seconds. 

‘But of course, it wouldn’t have scared the horses. I’ve heard that Musketeer horses are the best. They don’t react, don’t flinch.’

Porthos looked to the area the Baron had walked from, a shooting range had been set up. A target stood at one end of the lawn. A musket was leaning against a table at the other end of the lawn, the table had a few other guns arranged across it. A couple of plainly dressed men, staff from the house Porthos guessed, were waiting by the table. One of the men was looking at them intently.

‘What is it that you want?’ asked de Foix as he reached them. 

He looked them over, pausing for a few seconds when he reached Aramis. Porthos wondered if the man had recognised his friend, there seemed to be something in the way he looked at Aramis. 

‘We are here on the King’s business,’ said Athos, his no nonsense tone drawing the Baron’s gaze away from Aramis. 

‘Of course,’ replied the Baron. ‘Anything I can do to assist. I don’t get called on often. I think they forget I’m here most of the time.’

De Foix winked at them. His jovial attitude indicated to Porthos that the man had no idea why they were there. He glanced at Aramis who looked at him and raised his eyebrows. If de Foix had something to hide, he was doing it very well. 

Athos, who had dismounted, pulled the arrest warrant from his saddlebag. He handed it to the Baron who unfurled it and read it carefully. The colour drained from his face the further down the page he got, his hands started to shake and his breathing sped up. Porthos and Aramis dismounted, moving to stand closer to the man, ready in case he chose to run. 

‘I… I… what do I…’

De Foix did not run, he stumbled back a couple of paces, he reached up and clutched at his head as if he had been overcome with a wave of dizziness. 

The two servants rushed forward. Porthos moved to intercept them but Athos shook his head. The men reached their master with words of nothing but concern. The worry on their faces was clear from several yards away. The older of the men, the one that had been watching them intently, steadied the Baron with a hand at his elbow and an arm around the man’s waist. He looked at them, pausing on Aramis in much the same way the Baron had a few minutes before.

‘It’s alright, Paul,’ said the Baron as he regained his composure. ‘These men are just doing their job. If you can give me a moment.’

The two servants backed off, but Paul remained closer watching them all.

‘Do I… have to go with you straight away?’ asked the Baron who still looked pale. ‘Might I have a few minutes to prepare?’

‘You can take a little time, monsieur,’ said Porthos. ‘You can collect some belongings and have a horse saddled.’

De Foix looked unfocused, staring at nothing in particular, it was a few seconds before he spoke again.

‘If I am found guilty,’ he said, finally looking up at them again. ‘And I am… executed… will my…’

He paused again, trying to compose himself.

‘Will my son still inherit the title? What about my wife and daughter? Will they be forced out of the house… there are servants who would be out of jobs and the tenants. Will the land be taken by the crown? They might not be able to afford the rent-’

‘Monsieur,’ said Athos who raised a hand to stop the worried man from continuing his babbled verbal thoughts, ‘do you deny the accusation?’

The Baron looked at him, his eyes focused for the first time in several minutes, ‘yes,’ he said. ‘I would never do anything to harm the Crown. I love my country and my King. I… I don’t know where these accusations have come from-’

He paused again and looked off into the distance, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. He looked at Aramis again for several seconds, his expression darkened slightly. Porthos was aware of Aramis shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

‘There is a man who might be capable of this,’ he said. ‘He has been trying to get me to do business with him, but I researched his business and found that it was not to my liking.’

‘In what way?’ asked Porthos, intrigued. 

De Foix looked at Porthos, ‘I found out he had links, albeit slight, with the traders that deal in slaves. I didn’t want to be involved in that in any way.’

Porthos nodded.

De Foix continued, ‘he kept on trying to get me to invest in his trades. It got quite heated. I’m not a violent man-’

He looked at the shooting range he had set up.

‘That is about the only shooting I do these days. I told him in no uncertain terms I didn’t want anything further to do with him. He got angry. I actually thought he might try to strike me. He’s an older man but still fit and strong. He told me he’d ruin me…’

The Baron looked at Aramis again. Porthos glanced at his friend who had a look of realisation on his face.

‘My secretary told me that some headed letter paper and one of my seals had gone missing after that last visit.’

‘Are you suggesting that this man took the papers and the seal so that he could write letters that would leave you open to accusations of treason if they were intercepted?’ asked Athos.

De Foix nodded.

‘Who is this man?’ 

Porthos was not entirely surprised when both the Baron and Aramis spoke at the same time.

‘Charles d’Herblay.’


	4. Chapter 4

‘I knew it was you,’ said the Baron to Aramis. ‘I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.’

Aramis looked a little guilty as he replied, ‘I’d rather hoped you’d forgotten me when I realised who it was we had been sent to arrest.’

‘You don’t believe I did it do you?’

Aramis shook his head, ‘but I do believe my Uncle could be capable of setting it up though.’

Athos noticed the very slight pause as Aramis consciously referred to his father as his Uncle. Some secrets were to be kept; Athos wondered if Aramis did not want to complicate things further by telling De Foix who he really was in relation to Charles d’Herblay.

‘If you would like,’ said Porthos, ‘we could try to clear your name?’

The Baron managed a shaky smile.

‘Perhaps we should go inside?’ he suggested before turning to the waiting servants, ‘Paul, Marcus, could you see to these horses. Ask the groom to treat them as they would one of my own.’

The servants nodded; Paul looked at Aramis for a few seconds.

‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘You were a good lad. You didn’t deserve the way he treated you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Aramis slightly awkwardly. 

They followed the Baron towards the house as Paul and Marcus led the horses around to the side where the stables would be situated. The Baron had fallen into step with Aramis.

‘I was relieved when you left,’ he was saying, ‘I think you and your father and brother would have come to blows if you had stayed much longer.’

Aramis nodded, ‘I’d not been welcome for some months by then,’ he said. ‘I think, when I was capable of standing up to them, they didn’t like it.’

Athos hated to think about what kind of life his friend had led in his childhood. He was glad Aramis had some respite when he spent time with his friend. It was clear the two had been close. 

‘This wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like this,’ said Aramis as they neared the house.

They looked at him.

‘I remember another man, a Comte I think he was, who my Uncle propositioned. The Comte didn’t want to know but my Uncle was insistent. It almost got violent between them…’

Aramis trailed off. The Baron turned to them.

‘Has he mentioned how much D’Herblay used to abuse him?’

Athos and Porthos nodded, Aramis looked away. 

‘I think I remember that time, you tried to intervene. You turned up here with a black eye and two broken fingers. You’d tried to strap your fingers up but not done a very good job. My father persuaded your Uncle to let you stay with us for a couple of days,’ the Baron smiled at the memory, ‘I think he said that we’d got you working in the garden or something. Your Uncle didn’t mind if you were gainfully employed.’

Despite looking at little embarrassed Aramis said, ‘you see what I mean. I can’t believe that Jean...that the Baron,’ he corrected himself, ‘could be capable of treason.’

‘I think it is clear,’ said Athos, ‘that you are innocent, sir.’

The Baron smiled and nodded his thanks. 

‘Rene,’ he said, turning back to Aramis, ‘please don’t start being formal with me now. My father never insisted on using his title when he was amongst friends, or his staff and tenants. And I don’t either. That goes for you both as well. Please call me Jean,’ he said glancing at Athos and Porthos. 

‘Thank you, monsieur,’ said Porthos with a smile. ‘We will do all that we can to clear your name.’

Aramis had slowed to a stop; he was not making eye contact with any of them. 

‘I think I might be able to help,’ he said. ‘Does my Uncle still live in the same place?’ 

The Baron nodded, ‘I don’t think the house has changed much at all. Henri still lives there as well.’

Athos could tell the reminder to his brother had sparked an unpleasant memory in Aramis.

‘My Uncle would keep his important papers in a chest in his study. I know where it is and I know where the key is. I doubt he will have changed his ways. He was very fastidious.’

‘I don’t think he’s changed much over the years,’ agreed de Foix.

‘Are you proposing we break in to find the evidence to clear the Baron’s name?’ asked Porthos.

Aramis shook his head, ‘no, I am proposing that we walk through the front door and find the evidence to clear Jean’s name.’

‘You’re going to see him?’ said the Baron incredulously.

‘Yes. I think I am capable of providing an adequate distraction for Porthos and Athos to look in his study, take what we need and leave without him even knowing.’

The Baron looked shocked, ‘no, Rene, you can’t do that. You can’t go back there-’

‘Jean,’ said Aramis, turning to look at his friend. ‘You and your father were more of a family to me than my own were. You looked out for me, gave me more of an education than he bothered to. And I cannot see an innocent man persecuted when I can do something about it. Please. Let me help you.’

De Foix looked at Aramis for several seconds before nodding. The Baron stepped forward and embraced Aramis firmly. 

‘Thank you,’ said de Foix, ‘now, please, come and meet my family.’

MMMM

The Baron led them around to the side of the chateau, a slightly less formal door gave way to a plain corridor with several doors leading off it. A small woman wearing an apron appeared from one of the rooms, the smell of fresh bread followed her. Porthos could make out a large kitchen beyond the door the woman had appeared from. 

The plump woman made a small curtsy to the Baron.

‘Two of the girls are ill, sir,’ she said. ‘They’re suffering terrible with their hay fever. I’ve sent them off to their rooms for a couple of hours until that magic witchcraft potion starts to work.’

De Foix turned to the Musketeers and smiled, ‘this is my housekeeper Madame Tailler, she is wary of medicines but has a heart of gold.’ 

He turned back to the housekeeper who was glaring at him. She smiled at him after a few seconds.

‘Are these young men joining you for dinner, sir?’ she asked. ‘Monsieur Tailler is about to start his preparations and you know how he gets if he has to change his plans.’

‘I sometimes wonder who is the servant and who the master,’ said the Baron with a quick squeeze of Madame Tailler’s shoulders. ‘Tell your husband that yes these gentlemen are joining us. And they will be staying the night.’

He turned back to the Musketeers.

Aramis said, ‘thank you, Jean. As long as it does not put you to any trouble.’

The housekeeper bustled away mumbling that it would not put the master to any trouble.

‘You three are going to try to clear my name, believe me, Rene, it is no trouble,’ said the Baron. 

Porthos had warmed to the man very quickly. His shocked reaction to seeing the arrest warrant and his obvious affection for Aramis and dislike of Aramis’ father made Porthos feel he could trust the man. He was not abusive of his position and clearly looked after his staff, something that could not be said for many nobles. 

They continued along the corridor pausing at a small room where the Baron kicked off his muddy boots. A young man was busy polishing some silverware at a table in the room. 

‘Simon, can you give these a brush when you’re done, no rush, we don’t want Madame Tailler telling you off for neglecting the silver.’

The Baron winked at the young man who nodded with a smile. 

Aramis had described his times at the chateau with the Baron and his father as being happy. Porthos could see why he had visited many noble homes, some were more hospitable than others, although he doubted, he had come across a friendlier household. 

De Foix led them up a few steps to another door. On the other side of the door, they found themselves in the hallway. It was as large and impressive as Porthos thought it would be. Large mirrors had been strategically placed opposite each other to make the room look even larger. Portraits and landscapes hung from the walls, while two long side tables with ornate swirling feet stood under the mirrors. The inlaid patterned side tables were topped with tastefully chosen ornaments. 

Porthos watched as Aramis wandered forward a few paces and turned slowly looking around. 

‘It’s not changed,’ he said. 

‘My father died five years ago, we thought about changing some of the paintings, we may still do that, but at the same time it would feel like a betrayal to his memory.’

Porthos was admiring a portrait showing a fair-skinned blonde woman holding a posy of flowers. A small boy was standing by her dressed smartly.

‘That’s my late mother and brother,’ said the Baron. ‘They died within months of each other. I don’t remember either of them very well.’

A noise from a room across the hall drew their attention. A child was crawling with determination across the hallway towards the Baron who smiled and crouched down. 

‘This is my son and heir, Hubert de Foix. Named after my father and brother,’ he said. ‘But we just call him ‘Bert’.’

Bert gurgled as he was picked up by his father, smiling contentedly as he looked around with wide round eyes. Porthos approved of the contact the father was having with his son. Most aristocratic families barely saw their children until they came of age.

They followed the Baron to the room which Bert had escaped from. They found a pretty blonde woman in her late twenties sitting on a large couch with a small girl who had equally blonde hair although hers was falling in untidy ringlets around her shoulders. The girl had a smudge of dirt on her cheek and her pale lemon-coloured dress was marked with muddy splashes. 

The woman looked a little shocked to see three strangers walk into the room.

‘It’s alright Catherine,’ said de Foix, ‘these men are here on the King’s business, we weren’t expecting them and they will not mind that my daughter looks as though she has been crawling around in the kitchen garden.’

The little girl looked a little indignant, ‘I wasn’t in the kitchen garden, Papa,’ she said. ‘I get told off for going in there.’

‘And rightly so, no one wants you standing on our food,’ remonstrated the Baron, not unkindly.

Catherine, who was trying not to laugh at her daughter said, ‘why don’t you tell your father what you have been up to. Or what you’ve been up.’

The little girl looked down for a few seconds before answering, ‘I climbed the big tree.’

De Foix shook his head, ‘I’ve told you before, not to do that unless you have someone with you. What if you fall?’

‘I didn’t fall,’ said the little girl without making eye contact.

The Baron crouched down in front of her, shifting his son to rest on his knee. 

‘Sophie-Catherine de Foix,’ he said firmly, ‘you are very naughty to climb that tree on your own. I fell out of it when I was your age and broke my arm. I don’t want that to happen to you.’

The Baron’s daughter looked on the verge of tears. Porthos hid a smile at what the Baron said next.

‘How far did you get? Did you reach the top?’

Sophie-Catherine finally looked up and nodded. The Baron smiled. 

‘Well done,’ he said and leaned forward kissing his daughter on the cheek.

De Foix gently let go of the wriggling infant in his arms. Bert started to crawl away, stopping when he reached Athos who looked down at the child warily. Porthos wondered what silent communication was passing between them as Bert sat staring up at the Musketeer in stoney silence.

‘Catherine,’ said the Baron, ‘let me introduce you to Rene, you remember me telling you about my friend.’

Aramis stepped forward as Catherine stood up, he bowed respectfully to her, sweeping his hat across as he did so. 

Catherine glanced at her husband, ‘you didn’t tell me he was this handsome,’ she said.

‘He was scrawny when I knew him,’ replied the Baron with a friendly smile at his friend. 

‘I’ll leave you alone,’ said Catherine. ‘Your daughter needs a bath, if we can get her into one and it will soon be their bedtime. May I join you at dinner? Or are you talking about business that I shouldn’t be a party to?’

The Baron shook his head, ‘I would miss you if you were not at dinner,’ he said. ‘We can discuss the King’s business now and if necessary, continue after you have retired for the night.’

He glanced at the Musketeers who nodded. 

‘I will see you at eight,’ she said as she bent to collect Bert from where he was still sitting staring up at Athos. 

The Baron watched her go before turning to the soldiers, his expression serious for the first time since entering the room. 

‘Anything you can do to help clear my name will be appreciated,’ he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Porthos always tried to enjoy the privilege of eating with the upper classes. Especially ones as genial as the Baron and his wife. Catherine had changed into a simple peach coloured dress for their meal, she told them that rather like her husband, she disliked the frills and frippery that went with the courtly life around the monarch. She was the daughter of a minor noble and had never expected to marry as well as she had. The Baron had reached out for her hand and smiled at her as she spoke. 

They were eating in a modest dining room with a hearth on one side and large double doors on the other, the windowed doors were allowing the natural light to fill the room meaning candles were not needed. 

Catherine had asked the Musketeers about their lives as soldiers, although she was very gracious and seemed to know what not to ask. 

‘I’ve been very lucky,’ said the Baron, ‘my father gave us his blessing. He could easily have disagreed with our match. I had for some years worried I would be forced into a loveless marriage as so many of my class are. I don’t know why I worried; I think my father was as far from a normal aristocrat as was possible.’

Aramis nodded, ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said tipping his wine glass in a small salute to the late Baron. 

Porthos had noticed that his friend was anxious but hiding it well. He was not surprised; Aramis had effectively offered himself up as the bait to distract their prey. The Baron had asked Aramis several times if he was sure about meeting his father again. 

‘My brother didn’t get a choice,’ said Catherine who was looking thoughtful. ‘As the heir to the family money and the title my father wanted him to marry well. My brother didn’t want to marry at all. There was no love between him and his bride.’

De Foix reached across again and rested his hand over his wife's wrist.

‘What happened?’ asked Porthos.

Catherine looked at him for a few seconds before glancing at Aramis who was sitting next to him.

‘He died,’ she answered simply. ‘I think it was a release for him, getting away from a life he was not suited to live.’

Porthos got the distinct impression from what Catherine was saying, and what she was not saying, that her brother had, perhaps, been the same way inclined as he was. But society could only see the wealthy man being married off to a woman. Being happy or content was not a priority for a lot of wealthy families. Power and the promise of more money generally guided how the sons and daughters would be matched up. 

Porthos wondered if Catherine had worked out that he and Aramis were the same, that they were in a relationship. It was likely that she was more attuned to any subtle signs they might have been giving off. He thought back to their previous conversations, perhaps he had stood a little too close to Aramis, been a little too watchful of his friend.

‘I very much want my children to marry for love,’ said the Baron wistfully. ‘I know little Bert will be expected to marry well, but with luck, we can find him someone he can be happy with.’

‘I think with your attitude, monsieur,’ said Athos, ‘your children will find themselves good partners.’

Catherine smiled at the soldiers and her husband, ‘now, if you will excuse me,’ she said as one of the serving staff pulled her seat out so that she could stand. ‘I will leave you to your important discussion. Your rooms are on the western side of the house away from the nursery,’ she said conspiratorially. ‘If you need anything you only need to ask.’

‘Thank you, madame,’ said Aramis. 

They watched her walk from the room, her steps elegant and smooth. Porthos saw the look of love on the Baron’s face as she disappeared from sight. 

De Foix turned to Aramis, ‘I’m going to ask again,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you want to do this for me?’

Aramis managed a smile, ‘yes, Jean,’ he said. ‘It is the least I can do for you. You, and your father, you made my life bearable all those years ago. Let me do this for you now.’

De Foix nodded slowly as much to himself as to his friend. Porthos had heard the slight worry in Aramis’ words but knew that his friend would do what he had said he would.

‘I suggest,’ said Athos, ‘that we have an early night.’

‘I’ll show you to your rooms,’ said the Baron.

MMMM

Porthos looked around the room that had been set aside for him. It was larger than anything he had ever slept in, at least alone. He had slept in dormitory accommodation a few times on the way to battles when they had not been forced to camp. But to stay in a large room with a large double bed on his own was unheard of. Even the few wealthy ladies who had taken him to bed had not lived in such palatial surroundings. 

His saddlebags were lying on an ottoman at the end of the bed. A washstand with water and soap stood near one of the large windows. The heavy deep red curtains had been closed. 

Porthos looked around with confusion when he heard a light knocking before his gaze settled on what must have been a connecting door to the neighbouring room. The room that the Baron had shown Aramis into. Porthos opened the adjoining door with a smile. Aramis grinned back at him. 

‘Do you think she knows?’ he asked as he peered into Porthos’ room.

‘Who?’

‘Catherine. I think she gave us rooms with an adjoining door on purpose. She was watching us carefully throughout dinner. And when she was talking about her brother she was looking back and forth between us.’

Porthos nodded, ‘I’m sometimes glad I’m not a noble. Getting stuck in a loveless relationship just because the two families want to link up.’

‘I’ve locked my door,’ said Aramis, ‘if we leave this door open, we should hear if someone knocks on mine.’

Porthos stood aside as Aramis wandered into his room, looking around.

‘You alright?’ Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at him and nodded, ‘I’m a bit apprehensive, obviously, but it’s been years and if it helps to clear Jean’s name, I can put up with him for a few hours.’

Porthos was sure Aramis was putting on a brave face, he was more worried about seeing his father again than he was letting on. Much as Porthos did not want Aramis to build up another facade he wondered if, in the short term, it was not such a bad idea. Aramis needed to be able to hold his own with his father and if that meant squashing down his own anxiety for a few hours then that was probably for the best. 

He stepped closer to his friend and pulled him in for a hug, Aramis wilted slightly in his arm, Porthos kissed his temple. Porthos hoped that his proximity during the night would help Aramis to sleep. Porthos would do whatever he could to offer Aramis comfort whilst they were alone. 

He pushed his friend to arm's length making sure Aramis was looking at him.

‘Let’s get to bed then, we need to be rested before we go into battle.’

Aramis smiled and nodded. Porthos was pleased to see the smile was genuine.

MMMM

Aramis stared at the chink of light bringing a narrow beam across the wall. The early morning sun indicating the new day brought with it further anxiety. Aramis had managed to sleep, wrapped up in his friend's firm embrace, for several hours, but as the dawn crept into the room he had woken. He kept still, not wishing to alert Porthos that he was awake. They were all light sleepers, ready to rush into battle at a moment's notice. But at that moment Aramis needed to order his thoughts, think through the day ahead, he had to prepare himself mentally for what he was going to do. 

He had not even considered backing out of the plan. It had been his plan after all. He wanted to help his old friend. He could not see Jean accused of something he would be incapable of carrying out. The kind Baron had been a lifesaver to him during those few years Aramis had lived with his father. He had lost count of the nights he had stayed in the chateau under some excuse or other cooked up by Jean’s father. Aramis’ own father never minded, never cared. Aramis owed Jean, and he intended to help him clear his name at whatever cost.

Aramis wondered what kind of reception he would get from his father and half-brother. Would they be welcoming, looking for a fresh start after his abrupt departure all those years before? There had been no fond farewell. After Aramis had stood up to his father, after Isabelle, he had simply packed a bag early one morning and left. What little money he had saved was spent on post-horses to get him to Paris and enlist in the first garrison that would have him. There had been no contact since that day. 

Porthos shifted onto his back, breaking the contact with him, he smiled, knowing he would have two of his best friends with him when he saw his father was a comfort. He knew he could have gone alone but he did not have to. They had decided the previous night that they would say they were in the area looking for an escaped political prisoner. They would say that they were calling on all the houses and Aramis had expressed an interest in seeing his father again. 

Jean had wondered if Charles d’Herblay would believe the lie, but Porthos had pointed out that Aramis was a very good actor. Jean had chuckled and related a story about a time the pair of them had nearly got in trouble and Aramis had managed to connive their way out of it. Aramis had forgotten the incident; it had made him laugh. It had felt good to laugh, to forget the bigger issue for a few minutes.

‘You didn’t have any bad dreams again,’ said Porthos with a yawn.

Porthos stroked his hand across Aramis’ back for a few seconds before pulling him onto his back. Aramis looked up at his friend who had propped himself up on one elbow and was smiling at him.

‘You make me feel safe,’ Aramis said with as coy a look as he could manage before grinning. 

Porthos leaned in for a kiss before looking at him with a serious expression.

‘Are you sure you-’

Aramis pushed Porthos back with a dramatic sigh and sat up.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘for the hundredth time. Yes. I. Want. To. Do. This.’

‘Good,’ said Porthos with a genuine chuckle, ‘just checking.’

Aramis slapped him on the shoulder playfully and shook his head.

‘And I will have you and Athos to back me up. I’ll be fine.’

‘All for one,’ said Porthos with a grin.

‘All for one,’ echoed Aramis.


	6. Chapter 6

They had left the chateau after a hearty breakfast. Athos had spent a lot of the time trying to work out why the Baron’s son was so interested in him. As they had been finishing their food Catherine had ushered Sophie-Catherine and Hubert through the open door. Hubert was walking with the waddled steps that all infants take as they learn to balance. Porthos could barely contain his laughter as the small boy made a beeline for Athos, using a tiny fistful of his breeches as an anchor to keep himself upright. Catherine had apologised and collected the infant who gurgled with disapproval before being sat in a chair adapted to allow him to sit at the table next to his mother. 

Jean suggested that his son was a good judge of character and saw Athos as a worthy leader of men. 

The moment of levity had been welcome. Athos had seen the way Aramis was hiding his anxiety behind jokes and charm, throughout their breakfast. Porthos had obviously noticed as well. 

Athos dropped back a bit behind Aramis and Porthos as the path they were following narrowed slightly. Porthos was talking to Aramis quietly, Athos could not hear what his friend was saying but he did see Aramis nod a couple of times. He guessed Porthos was reminding Aramis he was not alone, and that they were both there to back him up. Athos could not imagine what it was like for his friend. Aramis was going to see his father and half-brother, two men he had left years before after finally freeing himself from what sounded like a very abusive life. 

He was proud of his friend for being prepared to walk into the wolves den to provide a distraction. The plan was sound. Aramis could easily keep his father and brother occupied for long enough for Porthos and himself to search for the stolen papers and seal. He just hoped it would not have an adverse effect on his friend. 

They turned onto a gravelled driveway, wide enough for a carriage. Aramis had described the plot of land his father owned as being tidy and functional. There were no ornamental gardens or manicured lawns. The house was modest, big enough to show that d’Herblay had made money but not ostentatious. The tradesman had managed to carefully maintain the balance of knowing his place but showing that he had earned that place and could afford to keep himself there. 

A few rose bushes planted beyond a low brick wall gave way to a small paved area immediately in front of the main door to the house. As they slowed the horses a man appeared from the house walking up to them purposefully. Athos guessed he was a couple of years older than Aramis. The man was broad-shouldered and looked quite brutish. He was dressed for riding, a crop in his hand, held in a slightly threatening manner.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked in a condescending tone. 

Athos took an instant dislike to the man who he was sure was Henri d’Herblay, Aramis’ half-brother. 

‘I know it’s been a few years, brother, but surely you recognise me?’ said Aramis who had walked his horse forward a few yards.

Henri stopped and stared up at Aramis, a scowl settling on his face. 

‘What do you want? You walked away, ungrateful bastard that you are.’

‘We are on the King’s business and I thought it would be wrong not to at least pay my respects as I was in the area.’

Athos watched Henri carefully, the man was not sure what to say or do. There was an obvious dislike for Aramis in the man’s eyes. His fist clenched around the riding crop, his knuckles white with the tension. Athos approved of Aramis’ decision to remain mounted whilst he talked to his brother, the lofty position gave him dominance, forcing the man to look up at him.

‘He’s in his study,’ said Henri. ‘He may be too busy to see you. Perhaps you should carry on with the King’s business…’ 

Henri looked Athos and Porthos up and down dismissively before looking back at Aramis, a cruel look creeping into his expression. 

‘Have you told them how you disgraced the family by not marrying that girl who was with child. Your child?’ he said, his eyes flicking to Porthos and Athos, searching for a reaction.

Athos carefully schooled his expression, he did not know if what Henri was saying was true, but he did not want to rise to his bait. He could see Aramis shift awkwardly for a moment before settling. 

‘You brought shame to this family; I’m surprised you can even face us again.’

Henri turned on his heel and walked off around the side of the house towards a small stable where a horse was being saddled for him. 

‘You don’t have to explain,’ Porthos said quietly when Aramis did not move for a few seconds.

Aramis nodded, ‘I will,’ he said. ‘But later.’

They dismounted and approached the house. 

A bent old man appeared at the door, resting heavily on a walking cane, his thinning grey hair falling in wisps around his head. The man smiled, his eyes crinkling as the smile reached them.

‘Rene?’ he said. ‘Is that really you?’

Even from his position behind Aramis, Athos could tell his friend was smiling back at the old man.

‘Monsieur Gerard,’ said Aramis warmly.

The old man shuffled forward and grasped Aramis’ hand with both of his, the cane hooked over his arm, he looked up at Aramis with watery eyes. 

‘It broke my heart when you left. You were just starting to turn into a confident young man,’ the old man lowered his voice a little. ‘It broke my heart, but I knew it was for the best.’

He stood back a little and looked at Athos and Porthos for a few seconds taking in their uniforms.

‘You’re a Musketeer!’

Aramis nodded, ‘we’re in the area on the King’s business. I wanted to pay my respects to my father. Will you tell him I’m here?’

‘Yes, my boy, but I don’t know what kind of reception you’ll get.’

‘I know,’ said Aramis.

‘Wait in the hall and I’ll see if he will talk to you.’

They followed the old man into the modest hall. The room was quite dim with dark wooden walls and floor. A large chest dominated one wall with two hard-backed chairs placed at each end.

Gerard shuffled further into the house out of sight, they could hear his cane tapping on the wood as he walked. 

Aramis turned to his friends, ‘her name was Isabelle,’ he said.

‘Aramis, you don’t have to do this now,’ Porthos reassured his friend.

‘I know, but I want to,’ he said with a sad smile. ‘We were in love. She was the first girl I kissed, she was perfect…’

Aramis looked away for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused as he remembered his first love. 

‘She fell pregnant. Our parents organised for us to marry. I would have stood by her, raised the child… but it wasn’t meant to be... She lost the baby…’

Porthos stepped closer to Aramis and squeezed his arm, Athos could tell Porthos wanted to do more to comfort his friend but could not in their current surroundings. 

‘Isabelle was sent away. I don’t know where to. I tried to find out but neither my father or her parents would tell me. It was after that that I knew I could not stay here. I had already outstayed my welcome. Not that I had been particularly welcome anyway.’

The sound of Gerard’s cane tapping made them all look across.

‘He’ll see you,’ said the old man. ‘But only for a few minutes.’

Aramis looked at his friends for a couple of seconds, he took a deep breath before walking across the hall. He led them down a short corridor lined with detailed drawings of ships and maps of foreign countries. Aramis paused for a moment at the half-open door at the end of the corridor before walking into the room beyond. Porthos followed close behind stepping far enough into the room for Athos to follow him.

Books and rolled papers lined the walls. The shelves were floor to ceiling only giving way to the two small windows. In front of the windows, a large desk was set up. The man sitting behind the desk was busy writing something in a swirling hand, the quill being dipped into the ink frequently.

A sturdy table was standing behind the man against the wall under one of the windows. The chest that Aramis had described was sat on the table, its lid open, and they could see various papers within. Athos glanced at Porthos who was looking at the chest intently, no doubt working out if he could pick the lock if they could not liberate the key. 

The man working at the desk did not look up or acknowledge them in any way. He was wearing a black doublet with a simple collar, the cuffs had been folded back roughly, probably to stop them from smudging the ink as he wrote. His hair was short, his beard neat. 

Aramis stopped in front of the desk, his hat in his hand. He did not speak, did not cough or do anything to alert the man at the desk. The man behind the desk knew full well that they were there. Athos knew what the man was doing, he was trying to show them that he held the dominant position. They were visitors in his home.

After what felt like several minutes and probably only just before Porthos lost his patience the man sat back in his chair. 

He looked them all over briefly before settling his gaze on Aramis who calmly stared back. Charles d’Herblay appeared to be deciding how to approach the reappearance of his son.

‘How many years has it been?’ asked the man. ‘Since you left. After all, I had done for you. Raised you as if you were my own son-’

‘I am your son.’

The man narrowed his eyes at Aramis for a few seconds.

‘I suppose you want to talk?’

Aramis nodded, ‘I was in the area it seemed-’

‘I do not have the time now,’ interrupted d’Herblay. ‘You can return at seven and join your brother and I for dinner. Your comrades can attend as well, you might be more inclined to behave if there are other people with you.’

D’Herblay regarded his son for a few seconds.

‘I must say I am impressed you have found yourself a position in such a prestigious regiment. I thought your life would have taken a very different path after you walked out on my generosity.’

Aramis did not respond. Athos glanced at Porthos who was barely able to contain his rage at the subtle humiliation his friend was having to endure. 

D’Herblay waved his hand dismissing the three of them. Aramis paused for a moment before putting his hat on and walking from the room. They followed him. 

It was not until Aramis had walked back out into the open that he reacted to the stiff, stilted meeting with his father. Porthos was quick to give Aramis a platonic slap on the shoulder, his hand lingering slightly longer than necessary. Aramis nodded that he was alright despite looking very rattled.

‘Thank you,’ he said with a strained smile. ‘Did you see the chest? It’s where it always was. The key is on a hidden shelf under his desk.’

‘You alright?’ asked Porthos. 

Aramis nodded, ‘let’s er… let’s leave… we’d best not go back to the chateau in case we’re seen. There’s a tavern in the village a couple of miles away. We can spend a couple of hours there.’

Athos could tell Aramis wanted to get away from his childhood home. Away from the memories associated with the place. His friend was doing his best to hide the strain the whole situation was bringing but they could hear the slight agitation in his voice. 

As they walked towards their horses, which were waiting patiently in the shade of a large tree that dominated the lawn, Henri approached them again. This time he was mounted effectively reversing their first meeting. He walked his bay mare right up to Aramis who was forced to take a couple of steps back.

‘Did he agree to see you?’ Henri asked, his tone condescending.

Aramis nodded, ‘we’re returning for dinner.’

The smug sneering smile on Henri’s face faltered slightly. He readjusted his hold on the reins, swishing his crop unnecessarily close to Aramis’ face as he did so. The man looked a little annoyed when his half-brother did not flinch out of the way. Slightly thrown by the lack of any reaction from Aramis, Henri leaned back a little causing his horse to move about and snort. When his further attempts to intimidate his younger brother failed, he huffed and turned the horse. Using the crop and his heels he pushed the horse into a canter and a gallop, throwing up dust as he rode away from them.

Aramis stared after the man for a few seconds before walking towards his horse.

Athos looked across to Porthos who was watching Henri disappear in a cloud of dust. Porthos turned back to him and verbalised the very same thoughts Athos was having.

‘We need to keep an eye on that one. I think he’s jealous that Aramis had made something of himself, despite the circumstances. He’s still here, living with his father while his brother is in one of the most famous regiments in the country guarding the Royal family.’

‘Jealousy can be a very dangerous thing,’ agreed Athos.


	7. Chapter 7

Porthos and Athos followed Aramis as he trotted away from his childhood home. They turned to the right as they reached the main road. Porthos wanted to ride next to Aramis but could see his friend needed a few moments to gather himself. Despite the brave face he had put on during his brief meeting with his father and brother it was obvious he was struggling to contain himself. The unpleasant memories the visit had stirred in Aramis were bubbling under the surface. 

After a few minutes Aramis twisted in the saddle and looked back at them, he smiled.

‘I’m alright,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I can manage a conversation.’

The three Musketeers rode side by side towards the village. They talked about various things, avoiding what they were going to be doing later in the day. Porthos knew that it was all that Aramis was thinking about but there was little else they could plan. Aramis would distract his father during their dinner that evening, and Athos and he would slip away to search the chest in the study. 

Aramis stopped his horse outside the largest building in the village and the only one that was brick-built. A worn sign swung over the door with a weather-stained picture of what would have been a fancy cockerel. 

They walked into the near-empty tavern. A fire was lit, two large dogs were lazing in front of it despite the warm temperature outside. Porthos wandered up to the dogs who looked up and him and wagged their tails but made no attempt to rise. Their thumping tails hitting the dusty floor causing dust to puff up with each wag. 

A middle-aged man emerged from the gloom at the back of the tavern wiping his hands on a cloth before tucking it into his apron string. He laughed at the dogs. 

‘I’d stand no chance if robbers were to turn up,’ he said. ‘Old scraggly hounds ain’t gonna protect me.’

The man looked the three of them over, his eyes pausing on Aramis who was grinning at him. 

‘Hello, Vincent,’ said Aramis, stepping forward to shake hands with the tavern keeper. 

‘Rene d’Herblay! How are you here?’

Vincent grabbed Aramis in a hug before pushing him away to look at him. He glanced at his pauldron before looking at Athos and Porthos’ uniforms. 

‘Soldiers, eh? Well done lad.’

Vincent pointed at a table on the opposite side of the room to the fire.

‘Too warm to sit too close,’ he said. ‘I keep it lit for the old folk. They’re forever complaining about their aches and pains. But if it encourages them to part with their coin, I’m happy to chop a bit of extra wood.’

They sat at the table, laying down hats and pulling off gloves as Vincent collected a bottle of wine and three cups.

‘This is on me,’ he said.

‘No, Vincent,’ said Aramis.

Vincent shook his head, ‘nonsense, besides… you’ll be paying for your meals.’

The tavern keeper winked at them.

‘I’ve got to make me money somehow. Won’t be ready for about an hour though.’

‘We have plenty of time,’ said Athos. ‘We are in no rush.’

Vincent smiled at them all for a second before bustling off. 

Aramis watched him go before turning back.

‘I do have some good memories from my time here,’ he said. ‘Not just Jean. The villagers were always welcoming. I suppose it helped that I was generally with Jean when we came here.’

Porthos poured the wine and leaned back in his seat. He watched Aramis taking a few sips and wondered if the tension and anxiety his friend was suffering would fade away once they were done with the sordid business they had found themselves mixed up in. 

Aramis put his cup down and looked at them both.

‘Are you sure you want to do this? I know you’ve both been worrying about me seeing my father again, but I’ve not thought to ask you if you're prepared to commit a burglary?’

Porthos chuckled, ‘of course we’re prepared. Aramis, even if this didn’t involve your family we would have been prepared to do it. I wouldn’t want to see an innocent man forced to leave his family and face the interrogators in the Chatelet. I can’t imagine De Foix lasting very long there. He’d confess. We’d have been party to an innocent man’s execution.’

Porthos glanced at Athos who nodded his agreement. 

‘Thank you, then,’ said Aramis. 

MMMM

Aramis was dreading having to have an entire conversation with his father. He could not say what he really wanted to, he had to remain civil. He could not risk the man throwing them out. He knew he had to keep his father occupied for long enough for Athos and Porthos to get into his father's study, steal the papers back and get out again. If the papers were not being stored in the chest in the study, Aramis had no idea where else he might have put them. There was always the possibility that his father was actually innocent of setting Jean up, but the evidence all pointed to him. He had said he would ruin Jean and the papers and seal had gone missing that same day. It had to be Charles d’Herblay. Aramis already had plenty to hate the man for, trying to get a good, honest, man accused of treason only added to the reasons. 

He had managed to enjoy his lunch at the tavern, Vincent had talked to him a little about his years living there and given him an insight into what life had been like since he left. A couple of other locals that Aramis remembered had turned up at the tavern. They had passed the time of day but not really spoken. Aramis got the impression that some of the locals thought the reason he had left so suddenly was because of Isabelle. That he had perhaps left through shame. Not everyone in the village was aware of the manner that he was treated by his father and brother. 

Porthos had continued to offer him support as they slowly made their way back towards the house. Athos had taken the lead keeping an eye on their surroundings and giving them a chance to talk quietly. 

‘I just want you to be careful,’ Aramis said. ‘The last thing we need is you being caught and the three of us getting accused of theft.’

‘Even though that’s exactly what we are doing,’ laughed Porthos. 

‘You know what I mean,’ said Aramis with a smile. ‘We’re supposed to be clearing Jean’s name not getting ourselves in trouble.’

They turned their horses towards the house. Aramis took a couple of deep breaths. Porthos leaned over slightly and reached out to give him an encouraging slap on the back. The move about the limit to the physical contact the pair could manage. Aramis would have liked to have had a bit more contact with Porthos. His comforting touch would have been very welcome. But he knew that both his friends were looking out for him. He was pleased they were there and pleased they were helping him to clear Jean’s name. 

Gerard met them at the door and led them slowly through to the plain dining room. The table was set for five. They only had to wait a few seconds for Charles and Henri d’Herblay to appear. 

His father took the seat at the head of the table, Henri sat at the other end. The two men bookending the proceedings in what was meant to be a show of solidarity and force against the malingering interloper. Aramis had never felt welcome in the house and even as an invited guest did not feel he should tarry any longer than was necessary. 

They took their seats. Porthos and Athos sat opposite Aramis. Porthos made eye contact with him for a few seconds, Aramis nodded that he was alright. Despite the turmoil, he felt within he knew that with his friends there he could at least outwardly appear calm and in control.

They ate well, his father was obviously still making enough money to afford the house and good quality food and servants to deal with his and his son's needs. The wine was good. Athos tried to engage his father in conversation about the vintage, but the older man was not interested in a conversation. He grunted out a few responses but otherwise did not talk to either Athos or Porthos. 

Henri spent most of his time making snide remarks to Aramis about how he was probably the least well-bred of the Musketeers, although he did make a few obvious glances at Porthos as he made the insinuations. 

As the meal came to an end Aramis looked at Athos and Porthos. They both nodded.

‘I wonder if you would excuse us so that I could talk to my father and brother alone for a few minutes. I won’t delay us too long.’

Athos pushed his chair back, ‘of course, please, take your time,’ he said. 

The two had politely ignored the veiled abuse their friend had been subjected to for the length of the meal. 

As they walked out of the room, Porthos paused and turned back, ‘we’ll wait in the hall,’ he said. 

They closed the door behind them, leaving Aramis alone for the first time in several years with his father and half-brother. 

‘Do they know where you came from?’ asked Henri, who could barely contain himself. ‘Do they know you’re the son of a dirty whore?’

Aramis had to take a steadying breath; he could not overreact to his brother's statement. He needed to give Porthos and Athos time to search the study.

‘None of us talks about our past much, it is not necessary for the work we do.’

‘I thought members of the Musketeers were all the sons of nobles,’ remarked his father. 

‘Our Captain believes that the qualities of the man are more important than their lineage,’ replied Aramis. ‘There are some men who have noble backgrounds, but others are drawn from many places, some come from other garrisons and some are recommended. The Captain has even found men to join.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said d’Herblay dismissively. ‘Would you be in trouble if it was found out that you are illegitimate. That you lied to get in?’

Aramis forced himself not to get worked up, ‘I didn’t lie.’

‘You just didn’t tell them the truth, did you?’

‘I earned my place in the regiment,’ said Aramis, raising his voice slightly. ‘I’ve been a soldier for years, I’ve done my part for King and country. I have nothing to be ashamed about.’

Aramis glared at his father for several seconds, wondering if he had already overstepped the mark. But his small outburst had felt good. It had felt good to tell his father exactly what he wanted to, to tell the man that had spent years oppressing him that he had made his own way and reached a point that should have been unattainable for someone in his position. 

‘What do you want?’ asked Henri who had watched the exchange with barely disguised disgust for his brother. 

‘I want,’ said Aramis, returning his attention to his father, ‘to know why you didn’t save my mother when you took me away? You had the chance. You had the money; you could have set her up somewhere. You could have set us both up somewhere. Why just take me?’

Charles d’Herblay laughed, he took a swig of his wine before thudding the glass back on the table.

‘I was not about to take that risk,’ he said, leaning forward pointing at Aramis to underline his words as he continued. ‘I was not about to risk her being found and my business being put in danger. You were easy to hide. A little orphan that I took in through the goodness of my heart. Nobody thought anything of it. Nobody suspected. But if I’d taken her from that place it might have been found out, then what. I’d have had nothing. You think too highly of your mother. She was nothing but a common whore, tempting men into her bed. You should be grateful I agreed to take you on at all. I should have just left you there. You could have paid your own way.’

Henri choked on his wine at the final remark, laughing as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

Aramis struggled to come up with a response for a few seconds. 

‘You didn’t save me,’ he said, ‘all you did was save yourself the embarrassment of my mother telling people whose son I was. She wasn’t seeing anyone else at the time. You were paying to keep her exclusively for yourself.’

‘Is that true, father?’ asked Henri.

D’Herblay glared at Aramis who knew he had scored a few points with his statement. He guessed his father did not know that he knew the truth about his birth. Aramis was not surprised to learn that Henri did not know. Henri had probably always been told there was a chance that Aramis was not Charles d’Herblay’s son.

But Aramis had to be careful not to annoy his father too much. He had to give his friends the time they needed. He knew he would probably have to put up with more derogatory remarks before the night was over.


	8. Chapter 8

Porthos had hated leaving his friend alone with his estranged family. Aramis had been doing very well throughout the awkward meal to brush off the constant derogatory remarks he was receiving from both his father and brother. Porthos could see how hurt Aramis was. Could see the facade being built up. He hoped old wounds were not going to be reopened. 

They quietly moved through the hall and along the narrow corridor to the study. The door was ajar, Porthos eased it open before pausing for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

He was aware of Athos behind him frequently checking back along the corridor.

‘I’ll watch,’ said Athos. ‘Be quick.’

Porthos nodded, he had every intention of being as quick as he could. Aramis had been right when he said they could not afford to be caught. He felt under the desk and found the key where Aramis had expected it to be. The narrow shelf was not visible from the other side of the desk. He glanced up at Athos who was watching him, he held up the key, Athos managed a smile before going back to looking along the corridor.

The chest was old and made of heavy rough-hewn wood. Porthos estimated it would need at least two men to carry it any distance. He wondered if he could have picked the lock if it had been necessary. He thought he could but knew it would have taken a while, far longer than they had. He was glad Aramis had known where the key was kept. The key slipped into the well-oiled lock easily. D’Herblay kept the mechanism well maintained. The heavy lid opened easily, he quietly leaned it back to rest on the wall. A slightly worn area on the wall belied how long the chest had stood on the sturdy table with its lid open as d’Herblay worked at his desk a couple of feet away.

He looked into the chest, there were a couple of rolled scrolls tied up with black ribbon, he carefully moved them aside. As he flipped through the rest of the papers he stopped at what looked like a plain sheet. Carefully slipping it free of the rest of the papers he smiled to himself. The headed paper bore the mark of the de Foix crest, a simple fort on a red and yellow striped background. Porthos folded the paper and slipped it into his doublet. He continued to carefully check the rest of the loose papers for any more blank pieces. A tatty torn paper right at the bottom of the pile piqued his interest. With a quick glance at Athos who was watching him, Porthos reached for the last piece of paper. He unfolded it revealing what looked like a receipt, the amount the receipt was for had faded too much for him to read the numbers. Porthos read the faded and smudged wording, he was shocked.

‘Received: …... livre. It is understood that the boy will not be returned. If Monsieur d’Herblay no longer wishes to use the boy as his own he will dispose of him as he sees fit. The boy is no longer of any concern to Madame Noir.’

Under the words, Porthos could make out the signatures of the two named people. 

‘What is it?’ asked Athos who had stepped into the room looking at him with concern.

Porthos looked up, he held out the receipt.

‘D’Herblay bought Aramis,’ said Porthos. ‘He didn’t just take him away from the brothel, he had to buy him.’

Athos looked up after he had read the paper, ‘this implies that d’Herblay wanted to take Aramis…’

‘Do you think he knows?’ asked Porthos.

Athos shook his head, ‘I would have thought he would have shown some modicum of gratitude if that was the case, despite the way he was treated when he lived here.’

‘Should we tell him?’

Athos shook his head again.

‘If his father chose not to tell him, I do not think we have the right to.’

Porthos was not so sure. The knowledge might change Aramis’ attitude towards his father, although why the man had kept it from his son Porthos could not work out. 

‘Have you found the seal?’ asked Athos.

Porthos shook his head and returned to the chest. He slipped the receipt back where he had found it, right at the bottom of the pile of papers. There were a couple of divided off sections within the chest, Porthos felt about in the first but only found a couple of expensive-looking gold pendants inset with precious gems which had probably belonged to d’Herblay’s late wife. In the second compartment, he found the seal.

‘This was too easy,’ said Porthos with a grin as he held up the seal.

‘Sometimes it is, but let’s not forget that we probably had the easier part of the plan.’

‘True,’ said Porthos, as he slipped the seal into his pocket.

Athos returned to the door as Porthos carefully replaced the scrolls and closed the lid. He twisted the key, carefully checked the chest was locked and replaced the key on its shelf, making sure it was in the same position as he had found it. The longer it took d’Herblay to realise the paper and the seal had been taken the less likely it would be for him to work out who was responsible. 

They quietly walked back along the corridor. Porthos could not believe how easy it had been for them to find the stolen paper and the seal. He was starting to think of ways they could celebrate when Athos stopped suddenly in front of him.

‘I thought it was odd, the way you two left him alone with us,’ said Henri quietly.

Henri was standing in the middle of the hall tapping his riding crop into his gloved hand. The man was trying to look threatening.

‘You were stealing from my father. Did he put you up to this? Did my little waste of a life brother suggest you steal from the man that saved his life? You do know where Rene was brought up don’t you? You do know he is no better than the whores he was living with?’

Henri looked then up and down, sneering, his sense of superiority making him even cockier than he had already been. 

‘I’ve a mind to speak to your Captain… no… maybe I’ll get word to the Palace that one of the elite guards was born and worked in a brothel… not sure how that would look…’

Porthos glanced at Athos who was watching Henri carefully. The man had kept his voice low, obviously not wanting anyone else to hear them. The door to the dining room was shut, Aramis was still talking to his father. 

‘What do you want?’ asked Athos with as much disinterest as he could inject into his voice.

Henri took a step forward, ‘I want a duel. I want to show my skill to you elite soldiers. You think you are so fine with your lives of luxury in the city.’

‘We hardly live in luxury,’ said Porthos. 

Henri glared at him for a few seconds, with his head tilted back slightly so that he could look down his nose. Porthos wanted to thump him.

‘I would gladly meet you in a duel,’ said Athos. ‘Please just name the time and the place. But it is illegal and carries a high penalty. Are you sure you wish to take that risk?’

Henri scoffed, ‘I could take you easily,’ he said. ‘But I want to duel with my half-brother. He’s the one that needs to be put in his place. And it won’t be with swords. I intend to beat him with a pistol. He needs to be taught a lesson, but I wouldn’t want to deprive him of the opportunity to defend himself.’

Porthos glanced at Athos. They both hid smiles. 

‘What if Ara- Rene, does not agree?’ asked Athos.

‘He doesn’t have a choice. I will be on the back lawn of de Foix’s stupid unkempt garden tomorrow morning at seven, he’ll know where that is, he spent enough time over there. Do not be late.’

Henri glared at them each in turn before pushing passed them both. They could hear him climbing the stairs. They looked at each other.

‘That was… unexpected,’ said Athos.

‘And we thought it was going so well,’ remarked Porthos. 

MMMM

They did not have any time to contemplate the conversation with Henri as the door to the dining room opened. Charles d’Herblay was holding the door as Aramis stepped out. D’Herblay was scowling at his son. Aramis was not making eye contact with him, he glanced at Athos and Porthos, searching their faces for good news. Athos nodded subtly, noting the relief in Aramis’ eyes. The uncomfortable dinner had been worth it.

‘I doubt I will see you again,’ d’Herblay said dismissively. ‘I do not think there is anything more to say between us.’

Aramis did not respond.

Gerard appeared, shuffling towards the main door, his cane a steady beat against the wood. He opened the door wide and stood back. 

With nothing more to be said Aramis led the three of them from the house. Athos glanced at Porthos who had a grim expression. Aramis was probably thinking the ordeal was over. Athos was not looking forward to telling him about the duel his brother wanted. 

Their horses were waiting for them where they had left them by the big tree. Aramis mounted up and turned his mare towards the gates that separated the main road from his father's land. Athos did not see Aramis look back once.

When they were a few hundred yards from the property Aramis turned to them expectantly.

‘We got the papers and the seal,’ said Porthos patting his pocket.

‘Good,’ nodded Aramis. ‘Well done.’

He was acting a little distracted, which was understandable, Athos wondered if he would tell them what was talked about in the dining room once they had excused themselves. He would not ask but fully intended to be there if his friend wanted or needed to talk to him. 

After a few seconds Aramis looked at them both again, ‘somethings happened, hasn’t it? You’re both being too quiet.’

Porthos sighed, ‘Henri caught us leaving the study.’

Aramis’ eyes went wide.

‘He’s not going to tell your father-’

‘But?’

‘But he did threaten to spread rumours… well the truth, about you. He talked about going to the Captain and the Palace.’

‘Oh.’

‘But,’ said Athos, ‘he will not if you accept his challenge.’

‘Challenge?’

‘To a duel,’ said Porthos with a sigh. ‘He’s going to meet you at seven in the morning. He wants to use pistols… to show his superiority.’

Athos could see Aramis thinking through what he had been told, the slight crinkle at the corner of his friend's eyes and the quirk of his lips was a welcome sight. 

‘Henri has challenged me to a duel and he wants to use guns?’ 

Aramis laughed out loud.

‘I do hope you accepted on my behalf,’ he continued. ‘There’s nothing I’d like more than to teach him a lesson. A little graze across the arm… or better still the hip so he couldn’t go riding for a few days.’

Aramis looked into the distance, the possibilities keeping him entertained for a few seconds. 

Athos chuckled as well, ‘it probably would not hurt him to be put in his place. But you will still have to be careful.’

‘I will,’ agreed Aramis. ‘Let’s get back to Jean and give him the good news about the paper and the seal.’

Athos was pleased to see his friend looking happy again. Aramis had been tense and anxious for several days, a mood that did not suit the usually jovial man. Athos knew that sometimes Aramis hid behind his outward self but had not been doing so in recent weeks. Athos had not enjoyed seeing his friend suffering. He hoped after the shambolic duel in the morning things might get back to some sense of normality.


	9. Chapter 9

Porthos and Athos had been a bit surprised at how shocked Jean was about the proposed duel. He had thought the Baron would object to it taking place on his land but when he told them the reason, Porthos struggled not to laugh.

‘But you’ll be killed, Rene. He’s a good shot, you know that. He always beat you when he forced you to do target practice with him. And you rarely hit the rabbits we used to hunt.’

Aramis smiled, a guilty look in his eyes.

‘I’ve… er… not been entirely honest with you about that,’ Aramis said.

The Baron looked at him with confusion.

‘I was deliberately bad… if I’d been better than Henri… he would have…’

Aramis sighed and looked down.

De Foix finished for his friend, ‘he’d have beaten you, wouldn’t he?’

Aramis nodded, ‘my father realised very quickly that I was a good shot, he told me to never draw attention to myself…’

Porthos watched as Aramis trailed off staring at De Foix who was staring back. Aramis realised what he had said.

De Foix looked away for a few seconds, his brow furrowed in thought. Aramis glanced at them both awkwardly.

‘Your father. D’Herblay is your father? …It makes sense. I remember my father saying that your arrival had been cloaked in secrecy and the complete lack of any information about you… and the way they treated you.’

‘I’m sorry I never told you,’ said Aramis quietly. 

Porthos felt awful for his friend. He wished he could offer him some comfort but the moment was very much just between Aramis and the Baron.

‘You’d had it drummed into you. Were you the product of an affair? After his wife died. Was she a married woman?’

Aramis let out a shaky breath and shook his head, ‘no. He used to visit a… a brothel in a town near here… I don’t actually know which one… he paid to keep one of the women for himself…’

De Foix’s expression was unreadable for several seconds. He looked at Aramis, then looked away and shook his head. 

‘I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘You really were unlucky weren’t you.’

Porthos could tell Aramis was not sure what to do or say after the latest revelation. His friend had been forced to reveal more about his past to several people than he had probably done in years. 

De Foix seemed to realise what his friend was going through, the worry that would have been filling Aramis’ mind. He stepped forward and grabbed Aramis in a hug.

‘I don’t think any less of you,’ he said with conviction. ‘You were my best mate when I was growing up. And I would like to hope that we are still friends now.’

Aramis smiled and nodded.

‘It’s late and you’ve got an early appointment with your half-brother. Would you mind if I came and supported you?’

‘I’d be honoured,’ said Aramis.

MMMM

Porthos had expected Aramis to struggle to sleep but his friend had slept well. They had again shared a bed using the adjoining door to sneak about. Porthos had been awoken by Aramis kissing him gently. 

‘You wouldn’t want to miss my duel, would you?’

Porthos smiled, ‘if I could steal you away from it and keep you here I might.’

Aramis had been quick to avoid being grabbed by his friend and pulled back onto the bed. Porthos watched him padding around the large room getting ready. He wondered if all that had gone on over the last few days would catch up on Aramis. Would he be left with a delayed shock or depression? Porthos would make sure he was there, ready to pick up the pieces if his friend should crumble from the pressure. But, somehow, Porthos thought Aramis would not be affected. He hoped he was right. 

They had met Athos and De Foix on the front steps. 

‘Athos was telling me how good a shot you are,’ said de Foix as Aramis got to the bottom of the steps.

‘He’s the best in the regiment,’ said Porthos, ‘maybe Paris.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Aramis with a wink.

‘False modesty,’ chuckled the Baron, ‘it suits you.’

They made their way across the lawns to the place Henri had said he would meet them. Sure enough, the broad-shouldered man was there. De Foix moved off to observe from the trees. He did not want Henri to know that the Musketeers had been staying with him. They were not sure if Henri was involved in Charles d’Herblay’s attempt to frame de Foix for treason or not. 

The area Henri had chosen was hidden from the chateau and was far enough from any roads or paths that it would be very unlikely for someone to happen across them. The ground was flat with no obstructions.

Henri was undoing his doublet and loosening his collar. He threw the jacket over the low branch of the nearest tree and turned to face them, his gun already in his hand.

Aramis pulled off his weapons belts and sash. Porthos took them from him, Athos helped him to shrug out of his doublet. He spent a few seconds checking his gun before approaching Henri.

‘How many paces would you like before we turn,’ asked Henri with a confidence that Porthos found irritating. 

The man was so sure he was going to shoot Aramis it was laughable. 

‘The aim is only to draw blood,’ said Aramis. ‘I wouldn’t want you responsible for a death… even if it was the death of your half-brother.’

Henri nodded, with a reluctance that Porthos did not like. 

‘Ten paces, turn and fire,’ Henri said. ‘I hope your friends there can deal with a gunshot wound.’

‘We all have experience,’ said Aramis without bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Henri scoffed, ‘cannon fodder. I’m actually surprised you made it this far in the army.’

Aramis stepped a little closer to Henri, ‘perhaps I learned to have no fear. Perhaps I should be thankful for how badly you treated me, brother.’

‘You’re not my brother,’ said Henri with a sneer, ‘you’re only my half-brother. My mother wouldn’t have created something as worthless as you.’

Porthos wanted to step in, to stop the two men from winding each other up. Athos stopped him with a shake of his head.

‘I think,’ said Athos under his breath, ‘that this is cathartic to Aramis, we should not interfere.’

Henri had moved closer to Aramis, the two men were only inches apart.

‘My mother,’ said Aramis, ‘was paid to keep our father entertained. Our father frequented brothels and paid for services there. Your father. And you think I am worthless? He couldn’t even get another woman to marry him… and obviously was not grieving too much for his late wife.’

Porthos did not like the look that crossed Henri’s face as Aramis pointed out what their father had done.

‘Now, back to back and ten paces,’ said Aramis as if the barbed comments between them had not happened. 

Henri turned his back. 

‘Ready?’ asked Aramis.

‘Ready,’ replied Henri.

Aramis nodded towards Athos who began the count.

‘One… Two… Three…’

With each count the two men stepped further apart, Aramis had his gun ready, the concentration clear on his face.

‘Four… Five…’

Before Aramis could put his foot down for the fifth count Henri whirled around, his gun aimed in the direction of his brother.

Pothos yelled out a warning but was too late. Henri fired at Aramis. A spray of blood from Aramis’ arm showing he had been hit. Aramis turned, switching the gun to his left hand as he did so. He raised the weapon to aim back at Henri who was staring back at him with a smug grin.

When Henri realised that both Porthos and Athos had pulled and aimed their own guns the grin faded. He threw his spent gun down and held his hands up.

‘That was not a count of ten,’ Athos said through clenched teeth, the anger rolling off him.

Henri looked a little concerned.

Aramis took a few steps closer, his right arm dangling limply, his gun held steadily in his left, pointing at Henri’s head.

‘Did you not learn to count, brother,’ he said.

Henri seemed surprised at how steady Aramis was, despite the bloodstain that was spreading across the sleeve of his shirt. 

‘I won,’ Henri mumbled, ‘I drew blood.’

‘And now you should go before one of us draws a little blood from you,’ seethed Athos.

‘You can’t, you’re not part of the duel.’

‘We are his comrades and his friends.’

Henri realised he had made a mistake with his dishonesty. He started to back away before turning and stumbling off, grabbing his doublet as he went.

Aramis remained where he had been, gun aimed in the direction of his retreating sibling until they could no longer hear him pushing through trees and bushes in his bid to get away. 

Porthos was already next to Aramis, he slipped his arm around his friend's waist as he wilted slightly.

‘I think it’s just a graze,’ Aramis said looking down at his bloody shirt. 

Athos ripped the fabric of Aramis’ sleeve.

‘It is not bad, you won’t need stitches-’

‘Are you alright?’ asked de Foix from behind them. 

They turned to see the worried-looking Baron hurrying towards them.

‘I’ve had a lot worse,’ said Aramis who had not tried to step away from Porthos’ grasp.

‘Let’s get you back to the house,’ said de Foix who did not look convinced.

Aramis did not complain about Porthos’ arm around his waist. Porthos guessed his friend could have walked on his own, but was probably enjoying the contact and the excuse for it to continue. 

They made their way back to the chateau walking slowly. The Baron was watching Aramis carefully.

'I still think you were very lucky,' said de Foix.

Porthos chuckled, 'really, he'd have been fine if Henri hadn't cheated.'

'Perhaps I shouldn't have wound him up,' mused Aramis.

Athos glanced at Aramis, 'but you found it cathartic didn't you?'

Aramis did not respond for a few seconds before he nodded.

'I don't think I realised how much those years affected me.'

He reached out with his left hand and grabbed de Foix by the shoulder.

'If it hadn't been for you...'

The Baron smiled, 'we knew it was bad, my father would have liked to do more.'

Aramis shook his head, 'he did more than he had to.'

'And now, you've made up for it,' said the Baron.

Aramis was about to remonstrate with his friend but the Baron stopped him.

'No, Rene,' he said firmly. 'You could have arrested me, you could have been on the way back to Paris with me as your prisoner. That's what you had been sent to do. But you took the chance that I was innocent.'

'I knew that you were innocent,' said Aramis, 'I couldn't even contemplate that you'd changed.'

They had reached the target range. De Foix looked at the piece of wood that had been set up.

'If you weren't injured,' he said, 'I'd have liked to see just how good you really are...'

Porthos felt Aramis push away from his grasp. His friend looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Despite the discomfort he must have been in, Aramis could not resist the chance to show off. Porthos let his friend go but kept close by.

Aramis walked a little closer to the target but stopped further away than they had seen the Baron practising when they had first arrived.

De Foix followed his friend, intrigue obvious on his face.

Aramis pulled the gun from his belt with his left hand, raised it and fired. A fresh hole appeared in the centre of the target. Aramis lowered the gun and looked at the Baron with a grin.

De Foix laughed, 'I see what you mean.'


	10. Chapter 10

De Foix’s smile faltered when Aramis sagged slightly. Porthos, who had been ready for the inevitable, grabbed his friend, holding him steady until he had recovered a little. 

‘Sorry,’ said Aramis, ‘guess it’s caught up with me a bit.’

‘You have been shot, Aramis,’ said Athos rolling his eyes, ‘and you are losing blood.’

Aramis looked down at his arm, the sleeve of his shirt was more red-stained than white. Porthos tightened his grip around Aramis’ waist. 

‘It’s funny,’ remarked Aramis, ‘if we were in a battle I’d have just kept going, and probably not really noticed that…’

‘But you’re not in a battle and have time to think about it,’ pointed out Porthos. ‘So it hurts more.’

Aramis finally acquiesced and allowed Porthos to guide him back towards the chateau. Porthos could tell his friend was struggling a little, he guessed all that had gone on had finally overwhelmed him. Confronting his past and admitting his real background to his childhood friend, not knowing what the reaction would be, closely followed by being shot by a family member was quite a lot to deal with. 

De Foix led them up the steps and into the hallway, they followed him into the room where they had first met Catherine and the children the previous day. The Baron indicated a dark blue couch. As Porthos helped Aramis to sit down, de Foix walked towards the door.

‘What do you need?’ he asked.

Athos indicated that he would go with the Baron. 

‘Sorry,’ said Aramis as he watched them go.

‘What for?’ asked Porthos as he started to ease Aramis’ shirt from his breeches. 

‘Dragging you both into this-’

‘We were on a mission, we were sent here to arrest him,’ Porthos reminded his friend.

‘Why were you going to arrest my papa?’

Both Musketeers looked at each other for a second, Porthos could see his own worry reflected in his friend's eyes. They looked across to the Baron’s daughter.

Sophie-Catherine was wearing a simple light blue dress, it was obvious she had dressed herself as the frilled collar was askew and one of her stockings had fallen to crumple around her ankle. The skirt of the dress was a little damp and muddy in places. She had a couple of light scratches across her cheek but did not seem to have noticed. 

‘And why did you let the horrible man shoot you?’

‘Were you watching?’ asked Aramis.

Sophie-Catherine nodded, ‘I was in the biggest tree, I saw you all walking across the grass, then I saw my Papa hide… Does it hurt? Will you die?’

Porthos smirked as the little girl, who seemed to have no fear walked up to them. She jumped onto the couch and looked at Aramis’ arm carefully.

‘Can I see it properly?’

Aramis pushed his sleeve up, wincing slightly as the fabric pulled at the drying blood. Sophie-Catherine leaned in for a good look. Aramis glanced up, Porthos was amused to see that his friend was also struggling not to laugh.

‘Sophie-Catherine de Foix,’ said Catherine from the doorway. ‘Leave Monsieur Rene alone. Go and find Marie and ask her to help you get cleaned up, are you incapable of keeping one dress clean for more than a couple of hours?’

Sophie-Catherine scrambled off the couch and wandered away, seemingly unbothered by the admonishment from her mother.

‘I am sorry,’ Catherine said as she watched her daughter go, ‘I sometimes think she is a boy trapped in a girl's body… although I must admit, I was a bit like her as well. I’ve climbed a few trees in my time.’

‘She is refreshing,’ said Aramis, ‘too many ladies are forced to live stilted, cosseted lives. I applaud you for allowing her to have the freedom she has. Or I would if I hadn’t just been shot.’

Catherine smiled, ‘Jean told me what happened, I hope you don’t mind, but he explained it all to me. Thank you for what you did. You saved him. Without you, the evidence against him… he wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

She sat on the couch next to Aramis as Paul, who had followed her into the room with another servant organised for the water and cloths to be set out nearby.

‘When you were a boy,’ said Paul, ‘I remember tending to you after Henri had spent some time beating you up. You’d wanted to hide it from your father… because he would have said it was your own fault. And here you are needing me to deal with injuries he inflicted again.’

Aramis smiled, ‘thank you,’ he said. 

Porthos moved away a little, Aramis watched him go. They both knew the family wanted to help him after what he had done for them. Much as Porthos wanted to look after his friend, and he suspected Aramis would have liked to be looked after by him, they could both indulge the family for the time being. 

‘Will he be alright?’ asked Athos who had quietly returned.

‘He’s never really talked about the years with his father,’ replied Porthos quietly, ‘well, none of us talk about our past much do we? I think helping De Foix and being able to stand up to his brother will help him put those bad memories to rest.’

Athos nodded, ‘I think you are right.’

They watched as Catherine and Paul helped Aramis out of his shirt and cleaned and dressed the wound to his arm. The Baron, who had moved to sit on the other side of Aramis was talking to him. Whatever the conversation was about it was making them all chuckle. Porthos was pleased that Aramis had been able to save the man who had been there for him during what must have been, at times, a traumatic childhood and that they shared some good memories. 

‘Will there be any trouble for you all?’ asked the Baron. ‘When you get back to Paris and haven’t arrested me?’

Porthos shook his head, ‘we have the evidence and fortunately enough respect that our word will be enough to clear your name.’

‘What about d’Herblay?’ 

Aramis looked up from watching Paul tying off the bandage around his arm. 

‘If you could spare me some paper and ink,’ he said, ‘I’ll write to him. I’ll tell him what we’ve done and that he will most likely be on the receiving end of the next arrest warrant. I’ll suggest he leave the area.’

Catherine asked, ‘what about you? Will you be in trouble, you are his son after all.’

‘I doubt he would want to admit that, despite what Henri may think, I can’t see any of this coming back to me.’

‘Good,’ she said with a smile before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Thank you for saving my husband.’

MMMM

De Foix had insisted that Aramis rest for a few hours before they started back for Paris, they had indulged him. Although Aramis was sure he would have been fine to travel straight away. Porthos had helped him back to his room, they had locked the door and his friend had stretched out on the bed next to him. 

It had not taken long for the events to catch up to him again. After being tended to by Catherine and Paul he had felt a little refreshed but the feeling had been short-lived. Despite having slept reasonably well the previous night Aramis realised he was not rested. It had not taken him long to drift off to sleep.

He woke to find Porthos sat on the bed next to him reading. He watched as his friend traced the words with his finger, occasionally pausing when he came across a word he did not recognise. Aramis thought back to when they had first become friends, teaching Porthos to read and write had been rewarding. But so much had changed since he had first sat next to his friend and started drawing letters for him to copy. Porthos had been there for him ever since. They had been through some traumatic events in the few months they had known each other. Aramis drew a comparison to his friendship with Jean-Francois, despite them being very different they had become firm friends. He had trusted Jean-Francois in the past and he trusted Porthos in the present.

‘I hadn’t realised you’d brought a book with you,’ he said as he slowly eased himself up to sit. 

Porthos was quick to help him, holding him steady when he accidentally leaned on his injured arm. 

‘Catherine gave it to me,’ Porthos said. ‘I told her you’d taught me to read. She said I might like this… You may have to help me with some of the words, but I’ve got most of it.’

Aramis liked to see the satisfaction his friend was getting from reading on his own. He was also pleased that he had no problem asking for help when he got stuck occasionally. 

‘Thank you for helping me over the last couple of days,’ Aramis said after a few seconds. ‘I know you would have wanted to help clear Jean’s name anyway, but I am still grateful, particularly when it became obvious who was really responsible. You’ve both been very understanding.’

Porthos smiled, ‘it’s what friends do…’

Aramis wondered why Porthos’ smile had faltered a little as he trailed off. 

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘We weren’t sure if we should tell you, but I think we should.’

‘What?’ asked Aramis, as his intrigue grew. 

Porthos looked undecided about continuing, Aramis wondered what it was that could have worried his friend. 

‘I’m really alright,’ Aramis said. ‘This injury isn’t going to cause me many issues, not now that I’ve rested. And I really think confronting them has only been a good thing for me… so whatever is bothering you… please, I want to know.’

‘When we were searching for the papers and the seal,’ said Porthos without looking at him. ‘We… er… we found something… it was a receipt. It was for you. Your father paid to take you from the brothel.’

Aramis sighed.

‘I know,’ he said, a little amused at the look on Porthos’ face. ‘I found that receipt a while after I was taken there… More fool my father for teaching me to read,’ chuckled Aramis. 

Porthos looked a little confused. 

‘Do you think I should be grateful for the fact that he paid for me. That he had to negotiate my release with the Madame there?’

Porthos looked as though he did not know how to react to Aramis’ attitude. 

‘I do hold a grudging respect for what he did… but… he is a wealthy man. He could have paid the Madame for my mother as well. He could have afforded to pay for us both to live somewhere and no one needed to know.’

Aramis watched as his friend began to understand. 

‘But he didn’t, he left her there. I don’t know if, perhaps, she had refused to leave, but I doubt it. I don’t think he offered her that chance. I have a vague memory of my mother begging him to take me… before it was too late… before I was forced to do more than I was already being forced to do.’

‘Sorry,’ said Porthos.

Aramis shook his head, ‘don’t be. Just understand why I hate him as much as I do. And why it felt so good to stand up to him. Back when I was seventeen and last night.’

Aramis looked off into the distance for a few seconds. 

‘I often wondered why he kept the receipt. I think he intended to show it to me at some point, if my behaviour fell below his standards, I think he would have relished being able to show me that he actually owned me.’

Porthos shuffled across the bed a little and wrapped his arm carefully around Aramis, who gratefully leaned into the embrace. 

Despite the unpleasant memories that had inevitably been stirred during their brief stay with the Baron, Aramis was pleased to have been able to repay his friend’s kindness and generosity. 

If anyone else had been given the task of arresting the Baron they might not have believed him when he denied the charges. The fates had aligned for him and the Baron. The chance to stand up to his father and his brother a second time had been oddly welcomed. He only hoped he had seen the last of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> And I have come up with a follow up. We haven't seen the last of Henri...


End file.
